Chapter 18 Wren
Wren
The generator clatters harder than it should when I set it down on the concrete floor of his shop.
“Here,” I say, wiping my hands on my jeans without looking at him. “It’s all yours. Thanks again.”
Hunter doesn’t move. Just watches me from across the space, arms crossed, shirt clinging to his chest from the heat of the day, jaw tight like he’s grinding back something he can’t say.
Typical.
I take a step toward the open garage door, late day sun streaking in sideways.
After Atticus came home from day camp, he requested to go to my mom’s for tater tot casserole—my least favorite meal of all time because we ate it at least once a week growing up.
I told my parents I had some errands to run and I’d be back to get him after a while, then my mom insisted on having Atticus stay the night.
“Wren,” Hunter says.
I pause, hand hovering in midair like I might wave goodbye.
“Yes?” I don’t look at him. I can’t. I don’t want to get my hopes up again, and that tends to happen every time we lock eyes.
“You mad?”
I slowly turn to face him, arms folded tight across my chest, heart pounding but gaze averted. “Why would I be mad?”
There’s a heavy pause, then he shifts his weight like he wants to move but doesn’t.
“I don’t know,” he says. I feel him studying me. “You seem . . . different.”
The way I see it, I can play dumb, brush it off, and get out of here—or I can tell him how it made me feel when he left so abruptly after we were having what I thought was a nice conversation.
Option one feels safest. Option two makes me look like a fool for thinking he was remotely interested in me.
“You got somewhere to be?” he rubs the back of his neck, still watching me. “I’ve got some beer in the fridge. Was just about to have one.”
“I always have somewhere to be.”
He snickers, like he finds my defensiveness amusing, and then he struts over to an old fridge in the corner, retrieving two Busch Lights and handing me one.
I hate beer.
And I don’t love emotionally unavailable men.
I should be halfway to my car by now, but the soles of my sneakers might as well be glued to this concrete floor. Something in me won’t let me leave.
He cracks his beer. I don’t.
“I’m not sure what you’re trying to do here, but I don’t do the hot-and-cold thing. I’ve got a kid and a career and too much dignity to sit around, begging some broody guy to toss me a crumb of warmth.”
Silence follows, then I make the mistake of meeting his heavy gaze.
My lungs burn with the breath I’m holding in too tight.
This feels like a tipping point, one that could go in the worst direction if I let it. This is not the kind of man to put an ounce of hopes or dreams on. Carelessly fantasizing about him is playing with fire. Getting attached? That could be the death of me.
“I have to go,” I force myself to say before turning for the door.
Only without warning or hesitation, Hunter crosses the floor in four long strides, grips my waist, and hauls me into him. Before I can protest, his mouth crashes onto mine—hot, rough, hungry.
I whimper against his lips, hands fisting the front of his shirt, and he growls low in his throat like he can’t stand another second of distance between us.
“I should’ve kissed you the first time I had the chance.” His voice is low and gravelly, colored with want. “I’m not making that mistake again.”
He lifts me by the thighs, and I instinctively wrap my legs around his waist. With his mouth still on mine, he carries me effortlessly across the shop and sets me down on the tailgate of his truck.
My body feels safe and tiny in his massive arms. By the time we come up for air, his hands are already under my shirt, pushing it up over my head and tossing it somewhere behind us.
His lips trail kisses down my neck before reaching my chest, where he sucks one nipple into his mouth while palming the other, fingers squeezing just shy of too hard.
“Oh god,” I gasp, head falling back. I can’t remember the last time I was touched with hands and lips as greedy as his.
His fingers slide between my legs.
“Jesus, Wren,” he mutters. “You’re soaked.”
That’s all it takes.
I melt against him.
My defenses are weak, my resolve disarmed.
I want him to want me—and I want him in the worst way.
Physically.
I don’t want messy. I don’t want emotions. I don’t want to get my heart broken again because that’s exactly what would happen with someone like this. But if he can make me feel this desired? This consumed? He can have my body . . . just this once.
Hunter flips me fast, bends me over the tailgate, my warm cheek pressed to the cold, dirty metal. He yanks my jeans down to my knees next, taking my underwear with them, and then I hear the unmistakable sound of his zipper followed by the soft drag of denim.
“Goddamn,” he whispers, gripping my hips before lining himself up behind me. “You’re gonna ruin me, honey.”
With one brutal, perfect thrust, he’s inside me.
I gasp, mouth open, eyes wide, muscles clenching around him.
He just takes.
And I let him.
Because I need this. I need to be taken like I’m the only thing in the world he can think about—even if it’s just this once. Even if it never happens again.
I need this release.
He grabs a fist of my hair and yanks gently, just enough to force me to arch my back, to bare my throat.
“You feel that?” he growls, hips snapping against my ass. “That’s what you do to me.”
Each thrust is deep, punishing, perfect.
“You drive me fucking wild,” he says. “I can’t get you out of my head. I can’t stop thinking about you . . .”
I steady myself against the tailgate, knuckles white, body bracing as he pounds into me.
As his grip tightens on my hair, I instinctively moan—loud, needy, desperate. The sounds coming from my mouth are carnal and primitive, and I don’t know that I’ve ever made them until now.
“That’s it. You’re doing so good for me.” His tone unexpectedly encouraging and dominant at the same time. “God, you feel . . .”
His words disappear into heavy sighs as he slides one hand around to my front, his fingers finding my clit like he’s memorized it, before rubbing tight, perfect circles. My mind goes blank as the world around me dissolves. I’m simply a body on the verge of losing complete control.
I’m close . . . so close I’m shaking.
Every unremitting thrust brings me closer to the edge.
“Come for me, Wren.” His breath is hot against my ear. “You need this. I know you do. You need it just as bad as I do.”
He’s not wrong.
But I don’t want this to end.
Not yet.
“You’re taking me so well,” he says with a groan, feeding me every inch. “It’s like you were made for me.”
Without warning, the release I was holding on to for dear life begins to overtake me. I can’t fight it any longer. My legs go light, jerking and trembling as he pins me with each thrust. As sounds escaping my lips grow louder, he cups a hand over my mouth—which makes me orgasm almost instantly.
As soon as my body stops convulsing, he curses through gritted teeth, slamming into me a final time before pulling out completely and spilling his seed down my left ass cheek, hot, wet, and dripping.
We stay like that—bent, panting, spent.
His hands slide off my hips.
I grab a nearby shop rag, wipe him off me, and pull my jeans up, slowly swallowing the ache in my throat as I struggle to keep my balance. My body vibrates with little aftershocks, numb and electric at the same time.
Neither of us says a word.
But maybe there’s nothing to be said.
We both got what we needed.
End of story.
I find my shirt and pull it on without meeting his gaze.
“I have to go pick up Atticus,” I lie, brushing my hair into place.
Hunter zips his jeans, still breathless. “I should run into town. Parts store.”
It’s after six. I doubt the parts store is even open.
I nod once, back already turned, keys in hand.
We don’t say goodbye.
We don’t make plans to see each other again.
We don’t ask what this was.
We both just walk away like what just happened was the most natural thing in the world.
On the drive home—and for the rest of the night—I convince myself it meant nothing, and I promise myself it’ll never happen again.
While I’ve been the recipient of a million broken promises in my thirty-nine years, I’ve never broken one to myself—and I don’t intend to start now.